


Dark and Dreamless

by reliand



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Meaningless Sex, Sex Is Not The Enemy, no attachments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:24:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reliand/pseuds/reliand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the only way that Stiles can escape. All the nightmares stop when he's being spread open for a hard fuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Helenish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helenish/gifts).



> This is based on the prompt helenish had up on her tumblr: 
> 
> Please tell me that the only way for Stiles to get a break from the dark, suffocating emptiness living in his chest is cheap, meaningless hookups, like, you wouldn’t think it would help, but it does, going over to some guy’s apartment and sucking him off, getting the hell out of there afterwards so he can go home and sleep, sometimes he just falls asleep in the jeep, tucked in a parking lot somewhere, deep and dreamless.

He doesn’t even know the guy.

Guys. Or girls either.

Stiles meets the first one at a seven eleven while filling up his tank. He shouldn’t be driving as it is, not with his waking nightmares. The fluorescents are bugging his eyes, and between one blink and the next he sees the door. The white room. It sends him to his knees, and it only takes a moment for him to be lifted to his feet.

"Whoa there," a deep voice says, flashing his perfectly straight teeth in a grimace. "you okay there?" The man asks. He’s probably pushing thirty, hot as fuck with crinkles around his eyes and a strong jaw.

"I’m fine," Stiles winces and the man tells him to hold on so he can get Stiles some ice for his knees.

He doesn’t really know what happens in between, except that they end up parked behind the gas station, Stiles half choking on the guy’s dick, pubic hair tickling his nose. He gags a couple times and the man whines above him, flexes his hips until he’s coming down Stiles’ throat. The bag of ice lays across his knees, numbing him, and the man jerks him off, hand partially inside Stiles’ jeans.

At first he’s not sure if it’s the cold or the come that’s making his dreams less fretful.

He eats some girl out in the art supply room, and when she heads back to class, Stiles catches up on a few hours of shut eye. Doesn’t wake up in terror once.

He blows his load all over Greenberg’s chest later that week, when he can’t take the tiredness and the fear anymore.

After that it becomes routine. It's not how Stiles imagined losing so many of his firsts. He'd probably cry if he really thought about what he was doing, but the nightmares are worse.

The first time he gets bent in half, it’s in a smelly motel room. All sex and cheap cigarettes and like the sheets haven’t been washed in weeks. Stiles’ legs are thrown over some jock’s shoulders, who couldn’t take him home because his parents worked during the day and were home by the time school let out. Damon or Dorian or whatever the fuck. Stiles doesn’t really know or care. He just knows that he’s grateful the guy skipped out on practice to fold Stiles into uncomfortable positions that are at least better than finding your hands covered in blood.

Stiles is pretty sure he calls him Derek; screams it against the skin of his shoulder as the guy ruts into him, pushing him up the mattress. Says it like a litany.

Maybe it’s just his imagination, but he swears Derek is giving him funny looks the next time he sees him.

Doesn’t stop him from being out on his knees to choke on cock, even if he’s getting better at it. Doesn’t stop him from riding a guy in the back of his jeep in a Walmart parking lot either. Stiles passes out there after he shoos the man out his door, asshole sore and come making his chest sticky. He knows he must reek, but he curls up in the front seat and is out within seconds.

Fucking someone twice a week turns into a daily occurrence, because he's afraid that if he stops he'll start seeing the door again. Cherry blossoms floating down around his head as he splashes through a hallway of water...or maybe it's blood. Sometimes it feels so thick, he's not quite sure.

It goes on like that, day after day, for a few weeks, before anyone figures anything out.

It's Scott that finds him. His sweatpants are back on, thank God, but he's topless. He used his shirt to wipe up the come all over him and his seats.

A rap on the window wakes him up, and he can't believe he fell asleep in the parking garage at the mall. Scott has a couple of Macy's bags in his grip, and his knuckles play across the glass again. Stiles tries to cover his chest, though it's really no use. Scott can probably smell what went on in here anyway, even with the door closed.

When he gets the door open, Scott eyes him, gaze worried as he looks him up and down. "Are you okay?" he asks, staring at Stiles' arms.

"I'm fine. Just tired," Stiles tells him, and when he flicks his eyes down, to see what has Scott's attention, and he notices the mottled bruising. Dark hickies spot his chest.

"Stiles...you can tell me anything, you know that right?" Scott asks around a swallow. He looks so sad, and Stiles is almost ashamed. He's been fucking complete strangers anywhere he can, but it's helping. Nightmares only come at him when he's gone too long without it. "Derek said he saw you coming up here. I thought we'd meet up, but you wouldn't answer your phone."

"Derek just happened to be at the mall?" Stiles scoffs, getting defensive. His phone is probably sitting at home on his desk.

Scott looks like he's weighing his words, but decides against lying. He's not very good at it anyway. "No. Derek followed you here."

"Why?" Stiles asks. "You guys don't trust me or something."

"Stiles...I don't trust myself right now. Derek's worried about you though. We all are. He says you're hanging out in the city and--" Scott cuts himself off, and Stiles begins to feel the bite of the cold.

It's almost winter, which means all this concrete and metal is a terrible place to be in. Stiles wraps his arms around his chest, goosebumps lifting on his skin. Scott starts digging through his bags, pulls out a long-sleeved henley that he tosses at Stiles. "Put that on. You're going to get sick." Scott's phone rings, echoing around the garage. He pulls it out, glancing at the screen and says, "We'll talk later, okay. My mom needs me at home." When he walks away, he’s looking at the shadows around him intently, as if afraid something is going to leap out of the dark. Stiles doesn't blame him.

He pulls on the shirt and slams the door of his jeep shut, peeling out of the parking lot to head home.

Stiles doesn't stop.

He takes a few days off from finding sex, but the nightmares come back full force. He swears that he wakes up in sheets that are wet with blood. They're sticky and smell of copper and he cries out, until his dad bursts into the room and reassures him that everything is alright. That he's alright.

Jerking off doesn't do the trick, so he tries to go for a run instead, ends up seducing some poor, innocent jogger on the trail. He's on his knees for the guy within a matter of minutes. Who knew that stretching with your ass up in the air could get a guy's attention?

Stiles is about to get lucky the next day, when it comes to a screeching halt without his say so. His pants around his knees, hands atop the hood of his jeep as a stocky blonde guy plays with his hole. Stiles is making mewling noises, pleads for the guy to just get inside him already when his hands stop touching him completely.

"Pull your pants back up and get the hell out of here," Derek says, because of course it is him. Has to keep Stiles from enjoying an orgasm just because he's worried. Probably because they're in public. Parking on the side of the road probably wasn't his best idea ever.

Stiles turns around, clothing constricting his movements because they're caught around his ankles, but he gives Derek a bitchy scowl. "Do you realize what you've just done?" he asks.

"Probably saved you from an STD," Derek tells him. "He was about to fuck you without a condom."

"So if he had one you were going to let him fuck me?" Stiles questions, because he probably has one in his glovebox. He just assumed the guy had one of his own. Derek nods, but the guy is already pulling away in his own car. "Does that mean you were going to watch?"

Derek doesn't answer, but his eyes shift guiltily away.

"Gross, dude," Stiles says. "My opinion of you just dropped."

"Just be grateful I stopped him or I'd be dropping you off at a health clinic. You're lucky someone is looking out for you," Derek tells him. His eyes flick down to Stiles' still half hard dick, then back up and away, before he's turning on his heel, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket.

"Wait!" Stiles calls, and Derek stops in his tracks. Doesn't turn around though. "I need this. I need to have sex or it's going to come back. I might end up hurting someone. You need to help me," Stiles says, voice desperate.

"Help you how?" Derek asks.

"I need you to fuck me," Stiles says around a knot in his throat. He's pretty sure Derek is more likely to punch him in the face for asking, but he needs it. "Please," Stiles begs. "Please fuck me."

Derek turns, giving him a sad look, and it takes almost a full minute to answer. "If I'm going to have sex with you, it isn't going to be against the hood of your jeep. You deserve better than that."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can all thank the wonderful Beth for encouraging this, because she was like, "BUT GLORY HOLES! I WANTS THEM!"
> 
> So naturally, I replied with, "I'LL GIVE YOU A GLORY HOLE AND DEREK'S SAD, SAD FACE."

It doesn’t go quite as planned.

Derek gets him back to the loft, which still has ultraviolet paint spread here and there, and slides the door shut. The paint is not very noticeable, unless you’re looking. Smears of it here and there. The spiral staircase has spokes that are pealing, because everyone is too lazy to come help Derek clean it. Derek refused to on principle. Says he never asked for them to throw a party in his absence.

Stiles is almost sad he didn’t think about anonymous sex on Halloween night to help heal his mind…or heart, whichever one it is that is fucking him up so bad.

The loft is quiet, which means Peter must be at his own place instead of wandering around like a lost puppy for once. A murderous puppy.

“How do you want to do this?” Stiles asks, unbuckling his pants, and Derek’s eyes go wide.

“You want to do this now?” he asks, and Stiles is a little put out. He would never have figured Derek for a person to take things slowly. Especially since he’s already standing by the bed.

Stiles doesn’t want to go slow, which he emphasizes by letting the belt slide the rest of the way through the buckle. When he undoes the snap of his pants Derek pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, tries to look away, but his gaze snaps back like a rubber band when the teeth of his zipper part to reveal skin.

Stiles has taken to not wearing underwear. They’re too constricting in a world where all he wants is to get laid.

He pushes the material of his pants down his legs, hears the clink of the belt as it hits the floor.

“What are you waiting for?” Stiles asks. “Take your clothes off.”

Derek is raking his gaze over him. His skinny thighs and the heavy weight of his dick that’s starting to chub up with the excitement of getting sex. Hell, of getting Derek. Who would have thought?

Stiles is no fool. Derek is probably the hottest guy he’s ever laid eyes on. He’s getting lucky with this, though he’s not in the right mindset to appreciate it properly.

Derek is pity fucking him, that’s it. He wouldn’t look twice at Stiles, if he didn’t think he could somehow help.

“C’mere,” Derek whispers, and Stiles shimmies across the floor, kicking off tennis shoes and jeans on the way. Once he’s in front of Derek he lifts his shirt over his head, tosses it to the side and then he presses the length of his body against Derek’s. Stiles manages to slip his hands in between them to undo Derek’s pants, slides them and underwear alike down, just around his thighs and then he begins to rut into the cut of Derek’s hip.

Derek jerks against him, whines in his throat. “Stiles,” he whispers, and Stiles responds by laying his forehead against his shoulder. “Stiles,” he repeats, and he lays his palms across Stiles’ belly, pushes him back. “A little more slowly. Okay?” he asks and Stiles connects their gaze for a moment, wants to roll his eyes but instead nods.

The affirmation doesn't stop him from pushing Derek back against the bed though, following him down to straddle his hips.  
He doesn't even take a moment to appreciate Derek’s dick, just gets it between his cheeks and starts to slide forward and back. Derek groans and flips them over, kicks off his pants in the process.

“That’s more like it,” Stiles sighs and spreads his legs further, gets Derek pressed all along his front. “Get inside me.”

Derek doesn’t look happy.

There’s a tight set to his mouth and eyebrows, and though his dick is hard, it looks like it’s paining him to be between Stiles’ legs.

“Oh my God! Do I have to do everything?” Stiles asks, and reaches between them to guide Derek’s cock so it’s touching his hole.

“Just press it right in. I’m already wet from this morning.” Derek grimaces, but he listens, pushes in past the rim, achingly slow.  
When Derek is finally pressed all the way in, balls flush against Stiles’ ass, he leans down, holding his weight just barely off of Stiles.

That’s when it goes downhill.

Everything is too slow, too sweet. Derek is being all gentle caresses with his free hand, and he drags in and out of Stiles so tenderly it makes Stiles want to cry.

“More,” he sighs. “I need it harder,” Stiles tells him and Derek shakes his head.

“I want to treat you better than that,” Derek whispers against his shoulder, rocking his hips in and out. It goes on like that for a couple minutes. A sluggish, steady pace that Stiles is sure would feel good if he wanted it like that, but he wants the fear fucked right out of him. Not to be treated like a china doll.

“Please,” Stiles sobs. “Just fuck me. I want to be able to feel you for days,” he whines. Stiles knows he sounds like a child begging for candy. Sounds like himself when he was eight years old and just wanted two more pieces. He locks his ankles behind Derek’s thighs, and when he pulls out, Stiles tries to push him back in, hard.

“Stop it,” Derek says, pulling his head back to look at him. “Stiles…I don’t want to do that to you,” he breathes, eyes so wretchedly sad, like he’s looking into Stiles’ breaking soul and can’t stand to see it fall apart in front of him.

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, can’t look at Derek when he’s making it hurt worse instead of numbing the darkness. Wetness pools up behind his eyelids and he pushes at Derek.

“Get off me. This was a mistake,” Stiles whispers, and Derek’s dick pops out of his hole, unwrapped. Stiles would laugh at the irony, but he feels too desolate inside to do anything but take in a shaky breath, try not to cry. He pushes at Derek’s chest again, until the man is completely off of him and then hurries to grab his clothes. He pulls them on in record time.

“Stiles,” Derek says, “you don’t have to go.”

Stiles is already at the door though. He tugs it open and doesn’t look back because his eyes are burning, vision swimming with tears that slide down his face. Derek can probably already smell the salt. Why add insult to injury.

“I’m sorry,” Derek murmurs, before Stiles can get the door all the way shut. Once it is, he leans back against it and sobs into his hands.

The nightmares will come fast tonight. All because Derek refused to be anything but gentle. Cherry blossoms are already dancing across his vision.

Stiles only gets a few blocks before he screeches his tires. The Jungle is at the edge of the city and he always passes it when he takes the back roads instead of the main one to his house.

Stiles parks the jeep, stumbling out onto the pavement with his gazelle-like legs and a throb behind his eyes. Water and webs and absolute darkness bleed out in front of him for a moment, before his eyes find concrete again.

He barely glances at the aging gentleman letting people inside, just pulls out his wallet, fingering his ID. The man waves him along.

LED ropes run along the walkway in, and Stiles tries not to look at them for too long because it makes his vision splash with blood. He hadn’t come in this way last time. Stiles wants to find someone to fuck, and fast, but as soon as he passes into the main room the flashing lights almost bring him to his knees. Every color brings visions of how broken he is and he has to keep his eyes on the floor. On his feet and where they’re moving. It’s lucky he even makes it to the bathrooms, and when he does he grabs hold of the sink to steady himself. Looking into the mirror, under the dull dark red makes him look ghastly. Cheekbones sharp, eyes hollow and sunken in, sweat dripping down his forehead and jaw. Stiles is surprised Derek put his dick anywhere near him.

A flush of a toilet sounds behind him, and a moment later a stall door opens, revealing a guy buttoning his pants. He looks up at Stiles, eyes meeting in the mirror, and says, “You don’t look so hot, kid. Do you need me to call someone?”

“I’m fine,” Stiles says through a gulp of air. “Just need a moment.”

The guy doesn’t look convinced, but he takes the other sink, washes his hands, and then he’s out the door. Stiles takes his empty stall.

He doesn’t feel like he’s going to get sick but he’s dizzy, can hardly hold his own weight. There is no lid on the toilet though, and he doesn’t want to sit on the seat. Doesn’t want to put his knees on the floor either, not in a public bathroom, but he needs to get his head to stop swimming.

Stiles plants himself on the floor. His knees on the linoleum, and hands against the stall as he takes deep breaths. It hurts his ass to be in this position, probably from having Derek’s dick inside it less than twenty minutes ago.

He counts the seconds in between each intake of air, hears the pad of feet and the pound of music when the bathroom door opens as one, then two, then three people enter and take a piss. A dream of a doorway passes in front of his eyes, and the music gets loud again as another person comes or goes.

Stiles puts his forehead against the wall, feels it turn his sweat to cold and makes his head stop pounding quite as much. It takes him a moment to realize someone is saying something. It’s not just the music, vibrating lyrics into the structure of the building.

Stiles plays it back in his head and hears, “Aren’t you going to put it in your mouth?”

He’s disconcerted. Didn’t realize that blowing someone in the bathroom was considered good form. Stiles was at least going to take someone into the back of his jeep. It’s just good manners.

Stiles pulls his head back, wants to look through the crack between the stall door and the wall, to see whose propositioning who, and almost pokes his eye out on someone’s cock sticking through a hole right next to his head.

It takes less than five seconds to realize what he’s expected to do, and then he’s wrapping his lips around some stranger’s dick. There’s a groan from the other side of the wall as Stiles takes him in, as far down as he can go, and then comes back up.

Stiles is no expert at sex, but he manages to get his jeans undone and his cock pops out, standing straight to attention. He gets a firm grip on it and strips his dick, trying to match the rhythm of his mouth. The guy on the other side in pumping his hips in and out, shaking the wall, and when Stiles looks up he can see the man’s fingers gripping the top of the stall. It makes him lose his focus for a moment and when the guy slams forward, he chokes Stiles; makes him gag around his knob.

That’s what does it for Stiles. He’s coming into his fist and onto the dirty floor and the relief of it has him pulling his mouth off the guy. He stands up, not even finishing the guy off, and leaves to the guy saying, “Well, fuck you too!”

****************************************************************************************************************************

Stiles is dreamless for a day and a half before his brain starts beckoning him for more. Fills his head with a decaying stump and darkened woods. When he talks to Scott, he’s not even sure anything he’s saying is real. He can’t tell the difference until he pushes into Scott’s space, gets a few fingers under the waistband of Scott’s jeans.

Scott gives him a concerned look and puts a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. That’s all the confirmation Stiles needs, and he turns on his heel to find a good fuck, because Scott was looking far too tempting.

****************************************************************************************************************************

Derek finds him again.

He’s behind a grocery store, letting some guy drool down the length of his dick, when Derek interrupts again. He pulls the guy up by his collar and glares at him. The guy wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Get the hell out of here,” Derek growls and Stiles bashes his own head against the brick in frustration.

“Jesus Christ, dude,” Stiles starts. “I need to come, and he was going to let me fuck him.” His voice sounds raw and angry to his own ears.

“You can fuck me,” Derek says, and it comes out much softer than how he’d spoken to the guy that was blowing Stiles. “You can be as rough as you want.” Stiles considers him; giving him a once over and a healthy bit of skepticism with his silence.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll let you do anything to me,” Derek promises. “I’ll do anything you ask.” Stiles can’t help but smirk.

“Anything, huh?” Derek nods, and Stiles pushes off the wall, continues with, “Even fuck me raw and so hard that I can feel you inside me for days?”

It’s surprising when Derek steps closer and answers with, “I was getting there. I just didn’t want to be rough on you for your first time. Plus, I figure it's better for me to be having sex with you than a hundred other people you'll never see again."

Stiles pulls Derek in for a kiss. There’s clashing teeth, and the tang of copper. Some of Derek’s short hair is fisted in Stiles’ hand.

"My first time was already gone. Don't worry about my innocence,” Stiles whispers into Derek’s mouth. He licks against the seam of Derek’s lips and they part for him, but Stiles keeps talking. “Get me back to your place and show me all the ways you’re going to make it better.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on [Tumblr](http://www.reliand.tumblr.com)


End file.
